Magic of the Moon
by scarylolita
Summary: It never ends well when you fall for a werewolf. Sterek.


**Teen Wolf © Jeff Davis **

**Werewolf lyrics © Cat Power (from ****Michael Hurley****)**

**A little darker unlike my last Sterek fic, but hey. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Oh the werewolf, the werewolf comes stepping along_  
_He don't even break the branches where he's gone_  
_Once I saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were flying_  
_I saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying_

* * *

Alcohol gets Derek Hale feeling pretty generous. Because of this, he gives the bartender quite the pretty tip. Being a werewolf, it takes a hell of a lot more liquor to get Derek drunk, but he is feeling pleasantly intoxicated right now. This is why he decides to visit Stiles. He knows he will regret it, but with liquid courage coursing through his veins he doesn't hover on the thought. Derek and Stiles have been dancing around each other for the past few months, though Stiles had felt something since the day they officially met. Sure, that often ended up being Derek's angry fist, but Derek knows exactly how the teenager really feels about him. How also knows how cruel that makes him.

Derek climbs through the window and into Stiles' bedroom, but the teenager isn't there. He hears the shower running in the next room. Derek sighs. The last time he was here Stiles coerced him into trying on his clothing. None of them suited him and the teenager got a good chuckle out of the whole ordeal. Derek didn't find it so amusing.

Immersed in his thoughts, Derek barely notices when the shower tap turns off and he barely hears the footprints. A moment later the door swings open and Stiles is standing in plaid pajama pants and a grey t-shirt, towel drying his brown hair.

"Gah!" he hollers once he notices the tall, dark werewolf lurking in his bedroom. "Jesus Christ, Derek!"

Derek listens to his heartbeat, noticing how it quickens and doesn't stop.

"Derek, are you okay?" Stiles asks, giving him a strange look. "It's ten at night… What do you want?"

"You," he states.

"Me?" Stiles raises an eyebrow, but Derek hears his heart skips a beat.

"Yes," Derek takes a step closer, "you." He puts a hand on Stiles' chin as their lips meet.

"What are you –" the boy begins to ask, but he quiets. It's hard to speak with a pair of lips pressed against your own. Stiles can't suppress a whimper as Derek's hand slips beneath his shirt, feeling the warm skin under the thin cotton layer.

Clothing disappears soon after and every muscular inch of Derek is just as Stiles knew it would be. Though Derek is perfect, Stiles knows this night will be far from it, yet he can't seem to push him away. There is desperation in the way the werewolf is touching him. It is as though he needs this and perhaps he does. Perhaps this is how he finds comfort. If Stiles can't have Derek's love, then he'll take what he can get. Derek has never seemed to be particular fond of Stiles but that hasn't stopped Stiles from pining after him the way Scott pined after Allison for so long.

Clothing is discarded into a heap on the floor and when Stiles is bare he starts to shake. Derek doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't care. He's slow and cautious at first as he pushes his way inside of the younger body, building up a steady rhythm. His hips move carefully at first, but the movements gradually grow faster. Stiles forces himself to relax, knowing rigidity will only make it hurt worse.

"Ah…" His voice breaks as he shoves the back of his hand over his mouth, muffling any more sounds he might make. It hurts, but Derek still doesn't notice.

He stares up at the werewolf, watching him breathe. Derek isn't looking at him. He's simply staring at the wall ahead of him with eyes half lidded. His mouth is slightly parted, soft pants escaping. Stiles doesn't stop staring. He feels an unpleasant lump form in his throat, but he swallows it. He feels Derek's hands on him – in places he only felt in dreams. Pain and pleasure become one and moments later, Stiles feels Derek seize up and his body shudder. The man lets out a low moan and releases inside of the younger male.

When it's all over, Stiles just lay there a naked shaking mess. Derek pulls out of him and flops onto the bed next to Stiles. He doesn't say anything and Stiles can't bring himself to look at him. After many long minutes, he forces himself to stand up. He wanders towards the door and turns off the light before exiting. In somewhat of a daze, he limps to the bathroom, where he stares at himself for many long minutes. Dull brown hair, dull brown eyes and pasty skin. Not to mention the fragile bones, which he is sure will be bruised come morning.

'That was hardly romantic,' he thinks as he looks away from his reflection and cleans himself off. He expected the pain. He knew it would hurt, but he didn't expect this kind of pain. He didn't expect to feel hollowness in his chest. What happened? Was it sex? No, not quite. Making love? Certainly not. Fucking, screwing? Yeah, that was a hell of a lot more accurate. There was something about it that was wild and animalistic. Stiles keeps having to remind himself that that is simply because Derek _is_ wild and animalistic. He's a werewolf.

Stiles rubs his hand down his sullen expression and returns to his room. He throws his pajama pants back on and lies on the bed next to Derek. All Stiles can do now is thank God his father isn't home. He locks his door and closes his eyes. In the morning, Derek will leave and Stiles will be alone. There will be a melancholy emptiness lingering in the air and Stiles will be forced to welcome it with unopened arms.

This is how it starts.

* * *

_How nobody knows, nobody knows, body knows_  
_How I loved the man, as I teared off his clothes_  
_How nobody knows, nobody knows my pain_  
_When I see that it's risen; that full moon again_

* * *

Derek dreams of nothing and the morning after isn't pretty. There is none of that romantic waking-up-in-each-others-arms bullshit like in the movies. There is just a strange and unfamiliar sadness. Perhaps it is the kind of sadness that comes from knowing you made a mistake. Derek sits up and immediately puts his clothing back on. Stiles sits on his bed, against the headboard with his knees to his chest and the blanket bunched at his feet. He watches Derek's frantic and almost angry movements, too taken aback to say a thing.

"You were a virgin," Derek finally says.

"Yeah," Stiles murmurs. "That obvious, huh?" He gives a dry, humourless laugh, like he is ashamed or slightly embarrassed. There is something in his voice that Derek can't quite place. There is something in his eyes… those pretty, pretty eyes.

"Why?" Derek asks almost desperately. "It wasn't supposed to…" he trails off.

"It wasn't supposed to what?" Stiles asks.

"It wasn't supposed to be me!" Derek growls. Of course, he knew he would do something stupid. He just didn't think it would be something like this. He recalls the night before. He was fully aroused, but it took him a long time to come. Maybe that is why. Maybe he knew something was wrong. Maybe he knew the entire thing was wrong.

"I didn't mind that it was you," Stiles says quietly, standing up.

Derek's gaze softens and his eyes grow sad. Stiles smiles a small smiles and takes a step closer to the werewolf, pressing his forehead against the man's strong chest. Derek hesitantly wraps his arms around the teenager, noticing for the first time how significantly smaller he is. Derek could break him so easily. He doesn't want to, but he's afraid he will.

Derek leaves afterward and they don't exchange another word. Of course it would have happened like this. Why would Stiles have ever thought it would happen any different? Derek Hale is Derek Hale – tall, dark, handsome and so untouchable.

Stiles is Stiles – short, skinny, goofy and plain. There's nothing special about him. He lets out a sigh and gets ready for the day. He isn't looking forward to seeing Scott, because he knows the questions are sure to come. One thing he's learned from being around werewolves is that they can smell one another.

Stiles greets his father on the way out and gets in his blue jeep, driving to the McCall house. "You reek of Derek," Scott points out as he gets in the passenger seat, cringing slightly as he takes another whiff of his best friend. "Why do you reek of Derek?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and shoves Scott away. "Do you realize how creepy that is?" he asks.

Scott dismisses the question and pries, "Why were you with Derek?"

"I just kind of ran into him last night," Stiles murmurs. It wasn't exactly a lie and therefore his heart rate didn't quicken.

"He's… literally all over you," Scott points out, leaning in for one more whiff.

Stiles doesn't bother answering him. He just stares ahead at the road and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

In class, Scott continues to pester Stiles with questions he doesn't want to answer. Stiles feels a panic attack coming on and he stands up and leaves the room. In a daze, he forces himself to the boy's washroom. Suddenly his heart starts palpitating, a unpleasantly familiar numbness sets into his limbs and he feels like he might choke on the breaths he can't take in. He leans against the wall and starts hyperventilating. His chest tightens and he clutches the material of his shirt

Scott barges in a moment later, looking guilty. "Stiles –" he says his best friend's name quietly, kneeling on the floor next to him. Stiles' breaths come in like miserable sobs and Scott can only offer sympathy. "Breathe, Stiles… Breathe…" he says softly. He puts a hand on Stiles' shaking shoulder. "You're fine. You'll be fine."

Stiles nods his head, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. After many long minutes, the panic has subsided. He's not even sure what brought it on.

"Sorry," Scott apologizes.

Stiles forces a bitter laugh, wiping his damp eyes. "You didn't do anything," he says. "You were just being a friend… an overprotective friend, but a friend nonetheless."

"Did Derek… do something?" he asks carefully.

"Nothing I didn't want him to do," Stiles admits, staring at the floor. It hurts, in more ways than one, but he doesn't regret it.

Scott doesn't say anything else. He sits down next to Stiles and tosses an arm around his shoulder. He's still trembling slightly and his heart is still racing. They sit quietly for many long minutes and Stiles takes comfort in the calmness Scott is offering.

A few moments later, Isaac walks in. "Er… bathroom bonding?" he asks with a little laugh before disappearing into a stall. Scott rolls his eyes at him before dismissing his presence, as does Stiles.

"Maybe you should talk to him," Scott suggests.

"Who? Derek?" Stiles asks before simply shaking his head. It wouldn't help, he already knows that.

* * *

_For the werewolf, the werewolf has seen apathy_  
_For the werewolf, somebody like you and me_  
_And only he goes to me, man this little flute I play_  
_All through the night, until the light of day, and we are doomed to play_

* * *

What a shameful downward spiral. Anxiety is piling up and it's getting embarrassing. Stiles soon learns that Derek is the kind of person who doesn't learn from his mistakes. Of course, this didn't surprise him. Derek has been captured and beat up countless times and Stiles has saved him on a number of different occasions.

Scott pieced it together, but he still pretends he doesn't know. He's stopped trying to force answers out of Stiles. Secrets shouldn't exist between best friends, but sometimes there are things too painful to talk about. Scott understands this as well as Stiles.

Now they are back to where it all began and Stiles is pressed up against the wall in his bedroom, his tongue tangling with the werewolf's. "Derek," he moans the werewolf's name as he's fucked against the wall. Every inch of him is turning into liquid beneath the dark man's touch. Derek cups Stiles' backside and they move towards the bed, where they continue their midday fuck-fest. "Ah…" Stiles' voice breaks as he sinks into Derek's lap. His lips part as he lifts his hips only to push down once more, impaling himself in a rhythm that has him panting.

Derek closes his eyes, feeling every inch of the teenager's warm, smooth skin. Stiles continues rolling his hips. He bites his lip as he feels himself being brought closer and closer towards the edge. Derek hisses out his release shortly after Stiles and then the teen collapses on top of the werewolf. Stiles wraps his arms around him, suddenly overcome with a possessive feeling. All of this is an illusion. Derek doesn't love him and just like that, the illusion is broken. It pops like a balloon and Stiles lets out a quiet sigh. All he can do now is tighten his grip on the werewolf and wonder how this will end.

* * *

_For the werewolf, the werewolf, has seen apathy_  
_For the werewolf, somebody like you and me_

* * *

Stiles looks down at Derek's sleeping face as night approaches. He touches the werewolf's stubbly cheek and sighs. "If I can't have your love…" he murmurs, trailing off. He gives Derek a peck on the lips before standing up and throwing his clothing back on. He sits down at his desk and prepares to do homework when suddenly he hears Derek speak –

"You have it," he murmurs groggily.

"What?" Stiles asks, spinning around in his desk chair. He was so sure the werewolf was asleep.

"My love," Derek specifies in that same tired tone. "You have it." What an unconventional confession.

Stiles' lips part ever so slightly and he feels somewhat transfixed. Scott once told him that a werewolf can fuck whomever he or she pleases, but once they fall in love it's forever. He stands up from his desk and saunters towards the bed, where the werewolf is lying down. He kisses him once more, but says nothing. Words aren't needed. Not now. Perhaps this isn't going to be yet another tragedy. Perhaps it will just take a little more work than Stiles is used to. He'd be okay with that. After all, Derek is Derek. Stiles wouldn't want that to change.

Derek smiles. It's a faint smile, but Stiles sees it. He grabs the younger male's wrist and pulls him down. "That all I get?" he asks lightly.

Stiles chuckles, leaning down once more and placing an open mouthed kiss on Derek's lips. Derek reaches up and cups Stiles' face in his palms, lightly brushing his thumb across his cheeks. "Beautiful," he mutters and for the first time in Stiles' life, he feels it.

**- Fin -**


End file.
